


If Aught But Death Part Thee And Me

by MarcellaBianca



Series: The Book of Ruth [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Couch Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Irish Steve Rogers, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Protective Steve Rogers, Schmoop, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i needed a break from all of the man pain in the Olympics fic, irish bucky barnes, seriously the schmoopiest fluffiest thing the author has ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 12:21:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10217879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcellaBianca/pseuds/MarcellaBianca
Summary: In which Bucky's birthday happens, and then everything else happens at once. Plus, an Irish feast.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I WROTE A STUCKY FIC WITH ZERO ANGST. HOW.

The first birthday, Bucky was in cryo.

The second, he was coming down from the preliminary hearings for  _United States vs. James Barnes_.

Now, it's finally a birthday that he and Steve can celebrate together, so at first, Steve wanted to put together a big day. Lots of activities. A trip into Manhattan for cheesecake. Probably some sort of fireworks display if Tony had any say about things. 

None of it really ever coalesced. Steve knew deep down that Bucky wouldn't want anything too huge. What if, God forbid, it was a bad day? Thankfully Dr. Lu was always available on speed dial, but Steve was well aware that if Bucky woke up in one of his downswings he wouldn't want to do much of anything, no matter what day it was on the calendar. So he decided, quietly, to play it by ear, and most importantly, to leave it up to Bucky.

 "Happy birthday, you big lug," he murmured. Bucky smiled, and threw more of his weight atop Steve so he could suck up as much of Captain America's furnace-like body heat as possible. "I didn't hear your alarm go off," he wondered, voice still thick and rough with sleep. Steve chuckled. "I set my StarkWatch to vibrate so it'd wake me up quietly. Already went." He laughed a little harder when Bucky edged away, eyes narrowing in distaste at the idea of a sweaty, grimy Steve Rogers spooning him. "Relax. Even took a shower before I climbed back into bed with you."

"Oh, you are too good to me," Bucky sighed. He tucked his head into the crook of Steve's shoulder, where neck met collarbone. "You're gonna spoil me rotten."

"Hey, you only turn one hundred once," Steve smirked, then winced in mock pain as Bucky flicked his cheek with his thumb and index finger. That hand, the flesh one, moved down to stroke lazily across one pectoral. Steve adjusted the arm underneath Bucky's head so he could curl it up, push his own fingers through Bucky's still-long hair, coming out of the messy topknot he put it in last night.

"Whatever you want today, Buck. It's your birthday. Your wish is my command."

"Hmmmm." Bucky paused, then his eyes lit up. "Well-"

"No," Steve said immediately, knowing where this was going. 

"You just said whatever I want, Steve!" Bucky whined. "Don't you want me to be happy?"

"First of all, we don't have a mission briefing today. I checked. Second, I am...unprepared."

"Unprepared for what, exactly," Bucky snickered. Steve could feel himself go red. He mumbled, "Iamnotwearingabuttpluginamissionbriefing."

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

" _I am not wearing a butt plug in a mission briefing_."

Bucky howled with laughter. "I just wanted to hear you say it, you're practically purple, like an eggplant." He continued to laugh until finally, reluctantly, Steve had to join in.

Bucky moved then, pushing up off his metal shoulder. The new arm, courtesy of T'Challa and his scientists, was absolutely gorgeous and much easier on Bucky's body than the old, heavy Hydra tech. But despite the change in weight bearing and the removal of most of the scar tissue, the shoulder still got a little tight if he slept or lay in one position for a little too long. He stretched, clicks resounding in percussion down his spine, and Steve took the opportunity to indulge in looking at him. The expanse of golden, lean skin, the cut-glass jawline, the eyes that were...damn, there was that really cute movie Nat made him watch the other day... _eyes like the sea after a storm_. That was Bucky. Those were his eyes.

"Lazy day?" Bucky said, piercing Steve's thoughts like he always did. The ability to cut through anything.

"Yeah. Lazy day." Steve wrapped himself towards Bucky's back, spooning him as the sunlight broke through the window, glinting hard off metal arm and golden skin.

Truth be told Steve lived for those days, when the promise of just a day to relax was in full reach. They didn't have anywhere to go. No missions to run off to. No world to save. Just the cocoon of their bedsheets and each other. Even if sex didn't happen - and sometimes it didn't happen during these days, honestly - it was enough. Enough to just be.

* * *

Sex happened. Obviously.

* * *

Around 1PM, Bucky pushed himself off the couch (they moved because the living room was closer to the fridge) and said he wanted to go for a walk. "I feel like we have to go do something," he insisted to Steve, and rummaged around the fridge for walking beers. "Plus we're so close to the park. I gotta get some air."

There was a snap in the air; there always was around this time of year. But Steve could tell the sun was trying to peek through the fat, low-hanging clouds. "What a metaphor, eh?" Bucky cracked, breaking off a piece of his beef jerky.

They managed to find a dry bench. Quiet. Every so often they made small talk about the past, but never Hydra or the war. Memories Bucky was still digging through of their time in Brooklyn. He had nearly all of it back, but some pockets were still unturned. They watched kids feed the ducks, couples hold hands. Steve reached for Bucky, who gave his right hand willingly, twining their fingers together. Puzzle pieces. Dance steps a hundred years old.

They managed to score soda bread, stuffed cabbage, and colcannon from a local pub on the way home. While Steve ordered, Bucky stayed outside to answer birthday texts and calls from the rest of the team. "Nat and Clint want to come over tomorrow," he said when Steve reemerged from the restaurant. Steve nodded. "Your birthday weekend." He kissed Bucky's cheek. Because they were in public, and he could. "We do what you want."

Bucky's jaw jumped, like he wanted to respond with something other than what came out of his mouth, which was, "Sounds good to me.

* * *

They ate their Irish dinner on the floor of their living room. The colcannon was hearty and thick, the cabbage tender and buttery. The soda bread was a little dry, but it was nothing a lot of butter couldn't fix.

They watched the local news. Steve had to be forcibly calmed by Bucky when they saw the Archdiocese of Boston had disinvited LGBTQ veterans to march in their annual St. Patrick's Day parade. "It's total bullshit, Buck," he raged, while Bucky looked on with wry bemusement. "Stuff like this makes me want to take you down to that parade and kiss you in front of everyone."

"I don't think you'd need a parade to kiss me in front of everyone," Bucky said, drier than the desert. 

They ended the night watching  _The Great British Bake-off_ at Bucky's request, and Steve laughed a  _lot_ at how furious Bucky got at some of the judging decisions ("That Hollywood guy is a fucking ass!")

* * *

"Speak up, Buck," Steve said softly. They were back in bed, the remnants of cupcake wrappers thrown on their bedside table to be cleaned up later. Bucky had murmured something into Steve's chest, his place of position for ultimate cuddles, but it made understanding him a little difficult.

Bucky lifted his head to meet Steve's eyes. His face was open, but a little nervous. Cornflower-grey eyes hesitantly blooming. "You said I could have whatever I want for my birthday?"

"Yep." 

"Marry me."

Steve's jaw dropped.

"That's what I've always wanted." Bucky's voice was still anxious, but growing in confidence. "Ever since I got back and found out we could, I've wanted it, but I wanted it before, even when we couldn't. So we should. I don't have a ring, or anything. I mean...I wanted this but I didn't really plan on proposing  _today_. It just felt right, though." He blinked, hard, like he was hoping he wasn't screwing something up. As if he could ever be anything less than perfect. "Is that something you want?"

"Something I..." Steve stared at Bucky, then attacked, pinning him in the sheets. He hugged Bucky close, so tight he thought for a brief moment he might gain and kill a fiancé on the same day. But Bucky just laughed and squeezed back. "I mean this is promising but I'm gonna need an actual answer!" he squeaked from underneath Steve's body. He wrapped his arms legs around Steve like a hyperactive, giddy sloth.

No rings. No date set. Just a promise. An answer Steve has always been prepared to give. A hundred, a thousand years.

"Yes, you beautiful, perfect, amazing idiot. I'll marry you."

* * *

Sex happens again. Obviously.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Soda bread with butter is the BEST - they're selling a ton of it right now for St. Paddy's day, so I figured since I headcanon Ruth!verse Bucky and Steve to be hella Irish, they should have some Irish food on Bucky's birthday!
> 
> And yes, the Boston Archdiocese just banned gay vets from marching in their St. Paddy's day parade. The Boston MAYOR has asked people not to march in the parade as a sign of protest.
> 
> Also. Uh. This might turn into a Book of Ruth Wedding series. Who's in?! (this will start after I finish my Olympics fic, I just had to get something up for Bucky's birthday!)
> 
> [Tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


End file.
